To Show Your True Colors
by silverphoenix00
Summary: When America has a panic attack at a G8 meeting, the nations are hit with the realization that they have not been keeping that close of an eye on the mental health of the superpower. Now, England, France, and Canada must decided what to do - and England has an idea. Part One of America's True Colors
1. Chapter 1

_December 13, 2016 - New York City, New York_

The clouds hung in the sky that day and the rain drizzled down in large waves, wavering threateningly between snow and sleet. Lightning that cracked in the sky split the reflection that mirrored the chaos of the howling storm. Under any normal circumstances, the United Nations Headquarters would be empty due to the monster storm that seemed to shake the foundation of the building with every lightning crash that ripped the sky; the halls would be hollow, the lights off, and an eerie silence would echo through muted dark, but this was not a normal day.

In fact, today, the second Tuesday of December, was extremely special in its own right. Today, each member of the G8 met in union to discuss world topics, one of many meetings that could not be postponed or canceled under any circumstances, excluding all-out war; a rule set in motion after a certain pissed off Russian host decided to continually change the meeting date so that he could persuade (brainwash) the seven other G8 countries to 'become one with him'. Of course, Amelia F. Jones – America herself - knew that, before the end, the meeting would dissolve into an unorganized brawl amongst most nations – she herself would probably have a good go at a certain Russian that may, or may not, have been mentioned previously.

So, instead of being in bed sleeping – an activity she normally enjoyed at eleven in the morning - the young girl walked through the halls – with her LED red, white, and blue sunglasses casting faint glows on the dark walls as she passed by. Thanks to the storm, her tan military uniform was soaked a sickly cardboard brown and a small squish could be heard from her combat boots with every step she took; her normal wheat blonde hair had turned a deep brown and had been whipped out of her French braid and clung to her face in small wisps.

The abnormally tall country stopped outside of a meeting room, sitting at the heart of the building, and entered. The room was huge and brightly lit, a harsh contrast to the hallway outside; replacing the normally large, circle table – was a slightly smaller oval table and, instead of the one-hundred and ninety-three[1] seats, ten sat along the tables edges. Amelia gave a small sigh at the identical flags that sat next to each other – two German, two Italian. The G8 had given up long ago on trying to keep Prussia and Romano out of the meetings. Her sky-blue eyes continued to drag across the room, looking at each individual flag and empty seat until her eyes came to rest on two flags, one with a bright red maple leaf in the center and the other with three thick blue, white, and red stripes running vertical to each other, and the two people who sat behind them.

Madeline Williams – the national personification of Canada – sat quietly with her hands in her lap, listening intently on whatever perverted thing Francis Bonnefoy – France – was saying to her. Madeline's dry, dirty blonde hair fell over her shoulder's in large, lazy curls and her violet eyes studied the Frenchman, as if trying to tell whether or not she should censor whatever he was saying out of her mind. Francis, however, was babbling something in French and was waving his arms around dramatically – as if to emphasize whatever French thing he was talking about.

A small smirk quirked up on the girl's lips as a warmth bubbled inside her chest. She took a deep breath, screamed "MATTIE!", and charged at her twin. Before either the Frenchman or the Canadian could react, her arms were around Madeline's neck in a giant, wet bear hug and both girls fell onto the floor with Canada on the bottom.

"H-hey Amelia," the Canadian stammered in a small, quiet voice, still recovering from her sister's weight on top of her.

"HIYA!" Amelia Jones bubbled, a wide, Hollywood grin spreading across her face.

" _Amerique_ ," Francis finally spoke up in his thick accent, seeming to recover from the American's surprise entrance, "I think you are suffocating her."

Amelia reluctantly rolled off of the Canadian just as Francis' phone began to ring. Immediately, both North American sister's recognized the tune, but neither were surprised that France's ring tone was 'I'm Sexy and I Know It.'

Francis flipped out his phone, brushing a stray blonde curl out of his crystal-blue eyes. It wasn't two seconds after listening when a coy, rather troubling smile, cracked across the Frenchman's face, "Ah! _Angleterre_! We were beginning to worry about you!"

Amelia let out a large groan at the mention of England and rolled onto her back, giving one last final huff as she stared up at the ceiling, her light up sunglasses still blinking between red, white, and blue. Madeline stood shakily and sat back down in her seat; the Canadian took to poking her southern sister with her boot and swiveling in her rolling chair (which Amelia loved to point out, was her idea) while Francis paused, listened to the always angry Englishman on the other end of the line.

Finally, Amelia looked up at Francis, "Dude, what's wrong with the Brit? He's always at least half-an-hour early, because he's got a stick too far up his butt to do otherwise."

As Francis hung up, Madeline rolled her eyes – she never understood the bitterness between the two English speaking nations; in fact, she knew for a fact the America and England had been extremely close during her colonial days. She thought that after nearly two-hundred and fifty years of separation, the two would at least tolerate each other.

"It seems our little English friend has been caught up in traffic. Something about a Halloween party."

The twins looked at the elder nation in confusion. "It's December."

The Frenchman shrugged as he put his phone on the table with a small _clink_. The twin sisters looked at each other and wondered what in the world could be keeping England from being his ever proper 'Thirty-Minutes Early' schedule.

Just then, the rest of the G8 nations decided to start filing in.

* * *

[1] The United Nations is, officially, made up of 193 countries. This meeting room is normally set up for World Meetings being held in the United States.

I am planning on doing a series with where this story is headed so this is like the prequel to the upcoming stuff I have planned. If you guys want to read ahead (hint, hint) I've loaded all of my content related to this series over on my AO3 account (TheSilverPhoenix) if you want to go and check it out. Let me know if you guys like it so far and I would really appreciate it if you left a review! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

First, it was Honda Kiku, who had somehow managed to keep his white uniform perfectly dry despite the horrid weather outside. The man took his place next to Amelia, who had decided to start ignoring her Canadian sister and turn her attention to the Japanese man next to her. "Heya Kiku!"

The black haired man gave a small bow in recognition, " _Kon'nichiwa_ America-san."

"Oh, okay – so I totally playing that new video game you sent me…"

And that's when a sudden chill stepped into the room in the form of Ivan Braginski – Russia. Amelia felt herself sneer on the inside as the big, burly Russian came to sit across from her, his lilac eyes and creepy smile digging deep into her. "What are you doing here commie?"[1]

The Russian tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, his scarf shifting slightly behind him, "I'm here for meeting, _da_?"

Kiku could see a flash in the American's normally bright eyes, though he knew more than he would like to admit about America, and was grateful for the entrance of the Italian-German quartet that took that silent staring match as their cue to enter the meeting room. Of course, Gilbert Beilshmidt was the first to break the silence with an, "The Awesome Prussia has arrived!"

Quickly followed by a steaming, and soaked, Lovina Vargas, "Shut up older potato bastard!"

"Please, Germany?" a pleading Feliciana Vargas asked while following a rather large looking man with slicked back blonde hair.

"No Italy, we are not getting pasta!" Ludwig Beilshmidt told the soaked Italian as they took their seats.

"But-"

"I said no!"

At that, Italy looked on the verge of tears and the German instantly looked regretful.

The German placed a hand on his companions shoulder, "Fine, we will get pasta after the meeting."

The tears disappeared from the Italian's brown eyes as she jumped up in victory and gave Germany a hug. " _Grazie_!"

Then Arthur Kirkland entered the room dressed, head to toe, in his full Redcoat military uniform.

Amelia's voice immediately dropped from her conversation with Japan as she saw the Englishman. She felt her heart skip, but she quickly recovered before anyone managed to notice – well, anyone but Kiku, who did notice the flicker. Instead, America brandished a bright, Hollywood smile and hoped that her nervousness didn't show in her voice. "Hey, I didn't know we were having Lobster!"

The rest of the G8 faded away into conversation, as the meeting didn't start for another ten minutes, leaving the FACE family to its own devices and an eavesdropping Japanese man to listen in. The Brit fixed a sharp, green eyed glare on her, his anger emphasized by his crazed hair plastered to his head, "Piss off, wanker."

Beside her, Amelia felt her sister groan and pinch her nose between her forefinger and thumb, trying desperately to subdue the headache coming on, "Don't start."

Near her, the Frenchman sat down in his chair and kicked his feet up on the table – he was definitely going to enjoy this meeting.

Amelia continued, ignoring the warning from the angered Brit. She stood, her grin growing wider and wider as the silence remained, "Dude, why are you dressed up in the getup anyway? I haven't seen you in that since I kicked your ass out of the colonies."

"Like you need to know you ungrateful brat!"

The red from his outfit gleamed in the light and Amelia felt a frown tug on her face.

When else had he said that to her?

Amelia felt a pang in her heart.

"Amelia? Amelia?" Madeline snapped her fingers in front of her sister's face, trying to bring her out of whatever memory she'd caught herself in, "Amy, heeeeelllllllllooooooo?"

Amelia's eyes lost the glazed over look and snapped to her sister, "Hmm?"

"Well look who's back," a familiar French voice said, seeming amused at her reaction to Arthur's outfit. The comment went over Amelia's head as she looked over in confusion, "I was never gone." Francis sighed and Amelia could sense Arthur's massive eye roll behind her, "What'd I miss?"

"Nothing, _Amerique_."

"Good," she said, hopping up and taking her seat with the small American flag in front of it, "I hate when I miss things."

Arthur placed his hands on his hips and quirked one of his abnormally large eye brows, "Then maybe you should pay more attention, git."

The American placed a hand to her chest and twisted her face into one of mock offence, "I'm hurt."

"Oh, please."

The Canadian next to Amelia sighed and drummed her fingers against the table. How much longer could she stand these two before she had to start beating them with her hockey stick? In fact, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.

Amelia turned her attention to her twin and put her full weight against her, her body falling into the Canadian's lap. With an "Ugggggghhhhhhhh, Mattie I'm so bored" Amelia began to poke Madeline's arm.

Her normally peaceful northern sister felt an unusually sense of irritation bubble in her chest and, finally, she snapped, "If you don't stop, I will make DC look like a matchstick."

Amelia's eyes grew wide and her breath hitched a little. Next to her, Kiku froze in anticipation – the nations seemed more prone to poking at America's old wounds than normal today. Amelia tried to smile past her racing heart, but the smile fell short, not quite reaching her eyes – something only noticed by the Japanese man sitting next to her. "Ouch. What is this? Roast America day?"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by a polite voice coming from the intercom box in the center of the table, "Would any of you like anything to drink?"

The Brit pinched the bridge of his nose and answered quickly, "Uh yes, a spot of tea would be lovely."

When a young man came with the tea five minutes later, he also carried the ever so familiar McDonalds bag. Amelia let out a cheer, honoring the true hero of the day, and snatched the bag from him, "Oh thank God! I thought I was gonna starve here!"

Amelia opened the bag and took out a giant hamburger. The superpower began to munch on it happily as the other three looked on with horror.

"Oh, dear Lord. Amelia, if you keep eating like that you'll die."

Amelia blinked at her former mentor, deciphering what he had said. Internally, it clicked and it hurt her. Her heart skipped another beat as a large smile broke out on her face and she waved the burger under his nose, "What's wrong, old man? Jealous that you can't have some?"

Arthur, seeming to have mastered the world's biggest eye roll, scoffed, "Hardly."

"Then what's up Iggy?"

"Don't call me that!"

"Why not? I called you that when I was a colony and you were fine with it then."

"Because you are no longer my colony as you are so keen to remind me, so why don't you just grow up!"

The world seemed to freeze.

And Kiku knew, just by one look at Amelia, that Arthur had successfully triggered something. Tears welled up in her too-blue eyes and she seemed to be having trouble breathing, but before anyone could say anything – she was gone, leaving nothing but a swinging door as evidence of her departure. Seven of the remaining nations froze, not understanding the reaction from the normally happy, go-lucky nation that they'd come to know as America.

If only they had known.

* * *

[1]: Russia was officially 'suspended' from the G8 in 2014 for their annexation of the Chrimea territory, though the G8 leaders made it very clear that it was just a suspension. So, naturally, Amelia would be suspicious of him. That and she probably just doesn't want him there period.

Yay, Chapter 2! These will probably go up pretty quickly considering they are already done, but you guys will know when I reach the point where I am working on the story, believe me. Anyways, don't forget to favorite or leave a comment and stick around for some epic history nerdiness on my part (because I am a history nerd and proud).


	3. Chapter 3

Kiku rose from his chair to go comfort the American, who had most likely gone to the bathroom to last out her panic attack, but he took a look around the room – every nation had a look of confusion riddled on their face, only Canada and England had shown the first signs of worry. Japan started towards the door.

"Japan, what-"

"You know," the Japanese man began with a deep breath. He could feel the unusual anger rise inside of him. How could they really not know how bad America had gotten? How could they really be so blind to the person they saw in front of them? How could they be fooled by mask that America had put up like a safety net to protect herself with? "It is funny to see how truly blind you all are."

With that, Kiku left the room to search for a rouge Amelia, who – he found – had hid herself away in a spare broom closet. Amelia was curled up impossibly tight in the corner, an occasional sob or whimper leaving her form. Kiku kneeled down to the young nation, who had her knees to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. He could hear her quick, shallow breaths and he could see her violent trembling.

"America-san," Japan said gently, reaching cautiously to touch her shoulder.

A sob left the younger nation, followed by a small sniffle.

"You need to breath."

Japan grabbed her by the shoulders more firmly and she jerked away from him, giving off another whimper.

"Please, America-san, I am here to help you."

Slowly, Amelia raised her head to look at the Asian nation. Her pupils were dilated, leaving a blue rim for irises and her face was riddled with sweat.

"I-it h-h-hurts," she managed, gripping at her chest. A few tear trickled down her cheeks and disappeared under her collar.

Kiku nodded in understanding – the panicked nation couldn't breathe, not an uncommon symptom of a panic attack.

"Breath," he instructed as her breathing picked up. He took a deep breath and released it to demonstrate. America looked at him and began to slowly follow his instructions. Together, the two took slow, deep breaths in, and exhaled the same way.

Kiku brushed away a strand of curly blonde that had fallen over the girls face as her breathing returned to normal and the sky in her eyes returned. Japan felt a small smile tug on his face as he helped the young nation up, "Let's get you home, America-san."

"N-no, Japan, I-I'll call someone to pick me up, y-you stay."

"You should not be alone."

A small smile graced her lips, a real smile for the first time that day. "I'll," she took a deep breath, as if trying to convince herself. "I'll be fine."

Japan looked closely at the stubborn girl – more like England than she knew - and saw that he wouldn't be able to do anymore. He gave a steep bow to the American, "Very well. _Sayōnara_."

"Goodbye." Japan began to walk away from America before being stopped once again, "And Kiku? Thank you."

"You are welcome."

"What the bloody hell was that?!" England practically screamed back in the conference room. "Does anyone want to bother explaining?"

The room remained in a stunned silence, trying to process the scene before them.

Then, Japan entered the room once again – without the American.

Before anyone could say anything, Japan began, "America-san will be okay. She is being escorted back to her home as we speak."

"Japan, what's going on?" Canada finally spoke up. She sounded upset; the Canadian had tears in her eyes and the Frenchman next to her watched her very carefully, making sure to be at the ready should she burst into tears.

"That is for her to tell you."

"Screw that," the Englishman venomously spat, suddenly very angry at the world. How could he, of all people, not notice what was going on? "I am going right now."

"But-"

"No, England's right. There is something wrong with my sister and I'm going to figure out what," Canada spoke up, standing to follow Arthur out the door.

"I have to agree with Canada, something needs to be done," Francis said, following his former colony out the door. And one by one, the G8 countries trailed out the door to hunt down the American.

"Ve~ Germany, do you think we should give America pasta?" Those were the first words Italy spoke as the G8 stepped out of the car. After two days, the nations had finally tracked America down to her Virginia plantation, a safe haven that America had grown extremely fond of ever since her colony days.

England looked around, the landmarks being painfully familiar reminders of his better days with America. What had happened to her since then? Why had she changed so much? What had changed her? How could he not have seen it?

" _Angleterre_ ," Francis broke the silence, sneaking up behind England to place a hand on his shoulder. Normally, he would've shrugged it off, but he was too distracted on figuring out how he had let his colony drift so far. And the sad part was that he knew America wasn't going to tell them anything. No, she was to prideful for that – too stubborn – too much like him. England smiled at the thought.

 _If only there were a way to see what happened_ , he thought. _If only there were a way to see what had made America who she was, to see what was going on inside her head._

Then, it clicked. Of course there was.

There was a way.

A grin spread on his face – now all he had to do was convince the others.

" _Angleterre_ , are you sure about this?" France said from the middle of the circle, a nervous edge in his voice. England thumbed through the pages one more time before answering.

"Of course I am frog. Now shut up, I need to do this right or it can go horribly wrong."

France and Canada gave each other doubtful looks, wishing that the other nations of the G8 had stayed instead of running away at England's mention of 'magic'. Now, the only ones who remained were England, France, Canada, and Japan.

Arthur stepped inside the circle with one last glance at the pages of the spell book and began to chant, twisting words of a long dead language into sentences from the ancient spell book. A small breeze grazed over the nations, making Arthur's black cloak swirl behind him – then the breeze grew stronger as a dim, green glow came from the magic circle drawn around them. England's chanting sped up and the dim glow flared into a blinding, harsh light as the wind tore at their clothing and, to France's complaint, hair.

The world around them swirled and the wind howled – leaving the nations engulfed in the middle of a tornado of green.

And then, everything went dark.

* * *

And here we go! This is the set up for the rest of the series. I hope you all liked it, because there is more to come. If you all have any questions (history or otherwise) about my stories or my writing you can find me (and follow me) on tumblr ( silver-phoenix-writing), definitely not shameless self-promotion *cheesy smile*, and on AO3 (TheSilverPhoenix), where you can maybe, sorta, kinda find more content than I have here.


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